


Burning Flowers

by bythegraceofcastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Geek!Dean, M/M, hipster!cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:05:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythegraceofcastiel/pseuds/bythegraceofcastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is a bit of a hipster who appreciates a good latte and floral Dr. Martens. Dean is a bit of a geek who has watched the Star Wars original trilogy about a hundred times and won’t listen to anything other than classic rock. They meet, they fuck, they try not to become friends. But it’s hard to fuck your roommate without getting to know him a little bit, and once you get to know someone, bad things happen. Bad things like feelings, which are not involved in this story. Never ever. Dean and Cas do not like each other. Or at least they try not to.</p>
<p>(summary from and fic inspired by a lovely au from tumblr user holyfrackles, with permission of course)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i am a little church (no great cathedral)

**Author's Note:**

> Um, disclaimer I guess: I don't own and am not associated with the show/characters, Stanford, or the UC system. Also some of this stuff may be based on truths, but otherwise it's a work of my fiction, yo. Cool? Cool.

If Dean Winchester learned anything from the first time he met Castiel, it was to always expect the unexpected. Cas was a wild card, one of a kind, completely different from any person he’d ever met in the past or would ever meet in the future.

It was something he kept in mind every moment of every day after that first meeting.

* * *

Originally from Kansas, Dean and his younger brother Sam had moved to Santa Barbara, California a year ago, when Sam was sixteen and Dean was twenty. As kids, they had to put up with a mostly absent father, who dealt with the grief of his wife’s passing by throwing himself into work at mechanic shops. Unfortunately, due to his bad habits that most often included drinking, gambling, and rage issues, he didn’t keep any one job for too long; once he lost a job, they usually ended up having to move to another town where he could start fresh. The cycle was endless and Dean knew for the sake of his younger brother, and his own sanity, that he had to get the both of them out of that situation as soon as he could.

At twenty, he had been working long enough and had saved enough money to make sure his father was taken care of while still getting Sam and himself as far away as he could.

That far away destination turned out to be Santa Barbara, California. Sam had always talked about California with stars in his eyes and Dean had always wanted to give the kid the world. So they registered Sam at the local high school and Dean enrolled in the University of California, Santa Barbara part-time, studying mechanical engineering. They both kept jobs to pay for a comfortable two bedroom, one bathroom apartment a mile and a half from the beach and a little over two miles from the University campus.

Sam flourished in California. For the first time, Dean saw his brother making friends he could actually keep, involving himself in school activities and events, and just being happy. And that made Dean happy.

Personally, Dean had a harder time adjusting to the new setting. He wasn’t at school enough to make friends there and didn’t care enough at work to try and make friends. He kept to himself and his growing movie and video game collection. As long as Sam was happy, Dean was happy.

Upon completing his junior year of high school, the now seventeen-year-old Sam was offered a spot in a new program hosted by Stanford University. It was a bridge program to help students that came from low-income families make the transition from high school to college. The program was all expenses paid, but required Sam to attend special classes at Stanford in place of his senior year of high school.

At first, Sam hadn’t even told Dean about the offer; Dean had found the letter laying out on Sam’s dresser when trying to find something in his younger brother's room.

They argued about it for a week straight. Dean could tell Sam was trying to be considerate of his brother, telling Dean that he wasn’t just going to abandon him for some school thing, but Dean was insistent. He could see how much it meant to Sam in those big puppy dog eyes of his and Dean refused to take no for an answer.

So they enrolled Sam in the program. They spent the summer getting Sam ready to live on his own, but more importantly enjoying each other’s company. They’d never spent longer than a few nights away from each other, so the thought of being apart for months was a lot for both of them to handle. 

The summer passed too quickly and before he knew it, Dean was driving Sam up the coast to Stanford, all of Sam’s belongings packed in boxes in the back of the Impala. They were mostly quiet for that car ride, blasting the classic rock station as they made their grand trip up the scenic coast; occasionally, Sam would point out some historical landmark or weird sign that caught his eye, but otherwise the air was heavy with things neither boy wanted to say.

It only took a couple hours to move Sam into his new dorm once they got to the school. Dean made sure to meet Sam’s roommate, his counselor, and all of the important people the other kids’ parents were meeting. He talked to the program director and Sam’s potential professors, mostly boasting about how much of a genius Sam was, though he also made sure to ask any and every question he could possibly think of about what exactly Sam was going to be doing. After all, he needed Sam to be happy.

Then there was nothing else to do but go home. Dean hugged his brother tight, reminded him to call and check in every week, and promised that he’d take a trip up soon to come visit him. They held each other for a few long quiet moments before whispering that they loved each other and parting ways.

Dean drove back down the coast alone with the windows rolled down, the radio off, and the sound of the Pacific Ocean whispering to him that Sam would be okay. Sam was a helluva lot smarter than him and would be just fine on his own.

It took a few days to adjust to the quiet and emptiness of living alone, and a few more days after that to realize that living alone would be impossible.

Not only was the quiet of being alone unbearable, but he had enrolled at UCSB as a full time student for the next quarter, which would cut back his hours working. He and Sam had barely been comfortable when it was two of them contributing towards rent; if it was only him working less hours than usual, there was no way he could do it alone. After a phone call with Sam, Dean knew what he had to do, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

Reluctantly, he went about making flyers advertising for a roommate. It was mid August when he started posting them around the University campus. The fall quarter didn’t start until late September, so he wasn’t too concerned when he didn’t get too much response.

But then days and weeks passed without a call. Not one person voiced interest in wanting to room with him. He didn’t know whether to be insulted or concerned.

As time passed, he spent more and more of his days off buying used video games and cheap comic books at the comic book store down the street, then spending all day and night toying with his new purchases. It was the easiest way to pass the time without having to go out and force himself to socialize with people he would barely deem acquaintances.

One of those days off, as he was in the middle of his new Need For Speed game, there was a knock at the door. He paused the game unwillingly, looking over his shoulder at the front door and wondering who it could possibly be. There hadn’t been a knock on the door since the day before Sam had left, when Sam’s friends came over to say goodbye.

He got up, groaning and stretching his limbs. As he walked to the door, feeling the ache and stiffness in his muscles, he realized that he didn’t know how long he had been sitting there playing his game, which probably wasn’t a good sign. Stifling a yawn, he adjusted his glasses lazily. He had taken to wearing the thick dark frames all of the time because contacts were just too damn expensive and he didn’t care what anyone’s opinion of his choice of eyewear was.

When he got to the door, he reached for the knife he kept in his back pocket. If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was how to defend himself. He wasn't expecting to be attacked in his home, but he was better safe than sorry. The knife was withdrawn and gripped tight in his left hand, tucked inconspicuously behind his back as he used his right hand to swing the door open.

Standing across the doorframe from him was a tall, thin man, around his age or younger, with the hint of something-a smile or a smirk, Dean didn’t know-playing at his lips. Dean examined the man entirely, from the black beanie perched dangerously far back on his styled dark brown hair, to the loose tank top with a vintage style anchor printed across it, to the dark blue cuffed skinny jeans ripped below his left knee and above his right, to the floral Doc Martens tied with thick black ribbons. Slung over the man’s shoulder was a huge duffel bag with pictures of cats on it and hanging around his neck was an old style vintage camera. In one hand, he held a long board and in the other, a coffee cup.

_Hipster_ , the thought passed through Dean’s thoughts like a whisper and he contemplated openly scoffing and rolling his eyes at the man across from him.

“Castiel,” the man said in a voice much deeper than Dean was expecting. He let the longboard lean against his leg so that he could extend a hand towards Dean, his sharp blue eyes raking down Dean’s body. Normally, Dean might make some joke about whether or not the guy liked what he saw, but he didn’t exactly know who this guy was or what he was doing at his door.

Dean cautiously closed the knife in his left hand, slipping it back into his back jeans pocket. There was no way this man could be a threat to him, even if he wanted to. He was too...innocent looking. With his other hand, he reached forward to grasp the stranger’s hand, shaking it warily. “Castiel, huh?” he asked, still concerned that maybe this guy was lost or trying to sell him something, “That’s a…unique name.”

“It means ‘angel of Thursdays’,” he said smoothly, continuing on without reservation as he elaborated, “When I was a week old, I was found abandoned on the doorstep of a firehouse. The man who found me was quite the religious devout, and given the fact that it was a Thursday, he named me Castiel. I’m a regular angel of the Lord.”

Castiel took his hand back, the same hint of a smile on his face as he gripped the longboard so that it was no longer resting against his leg. Dean stared back at him, face screwed up into a scowl. What kind of person abandoned a baby when it was only a week old? And what kind of person told someone they’d never met before the story of how they had been abandoned when they were only a week old?

“That’s…heavy, man,” he said unsteadily, expressing his sympathy in the only way he knew how: a blunt nod and a slight shrug of his shoulder. Maybe it wasn't even the truth, but Dean didn't care to try and find out. Trying to steer back to the point, he asked, “You got a last name, Castiel?” If he needed to file a police report against this ‘angel of the Lord’, it would probably be best to have all the details on him.

“I got three months rent in advance, a somewhat steady income, and a strong desire not to spend another night sleeping on a park bench,” Castiel quipped back. His lips parted into a small but alarmingly bright smile as he tilted his head. He moved something in his hand that was grasping the coffee cup and Dean could see his flyer folded up between the cup and the palm of Castiel’s hand. “And your flyers have been up for at least two weeks, so I know you don’t have any better offers.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel’s bold assumption. As much as he didn’t want to prove this guy right, he was going to be short on the rent this month if he didn’t figure something out soon, and so far he truly didn’t have any better offers. Even if Castiel turned out to be a crazy person, it might be worth having him around if Dean got three months worth of rent to fall back on.

Dean took a step back, wordlessly gesturing for the man to step inside. Castiel gave him a grateful nod, slipping through the door without a word. Dean closed the door behind him, watching the other man’s every move as he stepped further into the area that turned into a living room space.

It wasn’t too big or fancy; the room held a coffee table, a couch, and a loveseat opposite a large mounted TV that had come with the apartment. Underneath the TV was a cabinet that housed his stereo, Wii, Playstation 2, and Xbox 360 as well as controllers for each of these systems spilling out in a tangled mess. Each of the systems had been purchased used after months of saving, and Dean was proud to have them. He looked up to see Castiel staring at the paused screen and asked, “Do you play?”

Castiel turned to face him sharply, as if he had been startled from a daydream. “Oh, I don’t watch television,” he mused, his eyebrows pulling together slightly as he questioned, “And I don’t…play it either?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed at first, assuming that Castiel was mocking him, but the longer he looked at the stranger, the more Dean realized he was genuinely confused.

“Dude, video games?” he asked incredulously, and when Castiel just stared blankly back at him, he scoffed loudly, shaking his head and saying, “Well that’s just ridiculous. We’re going to have to have a Need For Speed and Grand Theft Auto night ASAP.”

For a brief moment, Castiel just blinked at him. Then he was smiling that small, bright smile again and it almost hurt Dean’s eyes to look at him for too long.

“Okay, Dean,” he nodded simply, continuing to look around the room. Dean’s entire body tensed at the sound of his name. He was sure that he’d written his name on the flyers, but the fact that Castiel remembered and spoke it so easily sent a shiver down his spine.

The stranger took a long sip of his coffee before asking, “Would you show me to my room, please?”

Dean didn’t speak, just cleared his throat as he moved passed the stranger to the hall. As he heard the sound of Castiel’s boots on the floor behind him, he gestured to the doors at the end of the hall, one directly in front of them and one on the left. “That’s my room at the end of the hall, and there’s the bathroom,” he narrated, shrugging, “It’s the only bathroom, but it’s big enough.”

He turned a little to make sure Castiel had been listening only to find that the man was standing a little too close to him. Whether it was intentional or accidental, Dean had no idea, but he took a cautionary step back, grimacing slightly.

“I like your glasses,” Castiel announced, smirking a little at Dean’s look of utter confusion and discomfort as he continued, “They almost look like authentic Ray Bans.”

Instinctively, his hand went to his glasses frames, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. He used to hate having other people see him in them, but he didn’t care enough anymore to want to pay for his contacts. Still, he was wary of when people pointed them out and didn’t like the way Castiel complimented them. It was impossible to tell if he was sincere or not.

Taking another step, Dean opened a door on the right of the hall, gesturing for Castiel to enter first. “This is yours,” he said plainly, stepping inside after Castiel and looking around at the bare room. Sam had taken all his posters and pictures with him to decorate his dorm at Stanford, and Dean hated how empty it looked.

He actually hadn’t been in the room since Sam left.

Castiel didn’t seem to mind the bareness. He seemed to glide across the room as he went to lean his longboard against and set his coffee on top of the only dresser, then went to the bed, tossing his duffel bag there. He straightened up to look around the room once more.

Dean tried not to watch him; he didn’t want his new roommate to feel like he was intruding. Instead, he examined the doorframe, smiling to himself at a small chip in the paint that Sam had made when they moved the dresser into the room.

“Can I paint the walls?” Castiel’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he glanced at the stranger, who was looking over at Dean from the middle of the room. The way the window over the headboard of the bed let the midday light flood in almost made him look angelic.

It was a stupid thought to have.

“Yeah, sure, you can do whatever you want,” he shrugged, clearing his throat anxiously before adding, “Just don’t damage any of the property or whatever. You break it, you pay for it to get replaced.”

Castiel gave him a quick nod, his smile brightening a little bit more as he replied, “Great, thank you.”

With that, Castiel was turning back to his duffel bag, unzipping it and starting to pull things out, tossing them onto the bed. Dean took that as his cue to leave, turning away before stopping himself. A big, goofy smile pulled over his face as he thought of something that caused him to chuckle, contemplating if he should share with the other man. Dean figured if Castiel was going to stay here, he better get used to Dean’s sense of humor as soon as possible. 

He turned back only to come face to face with the other man again, jumping back in surprise, which caused Castiel to laugh. It sent that same weird shiver down his spine as before. “God, do you always sneak up on people like that? Don’t you know what personal space is?” Dean scowled; his lighthearted smile was absent from his face.

The man just held up a wad of cash, shrugging and teasing, “Looks like something you’ll just have to get used to.”

Dean hesitated before taking the cash. It was twelve hundred dollars completely in twenties. He nodded in approval, a small smile coming back to his face as he looked back at Castiel.

“Hey, Cas,” he started again, testing the subtle difference of the nickname. He liked the sound of it. Biting his lip to keep from laughing at his own words, he raised an eyebrow and started to ask in the most seductive voice he could muster, “Did it hurt when you fell from he-“

“If you finish that godawful pickup line, I will personally go out of my way to _never_ sleep with you,” Cas interrupted him, a coy smirk pulling over his face as he looked back at Dean. He quirked an eyebrow up as if challenging Dean to continue.

While Dean had merely been joking, thinking it might be a funny icebreaker for the ‘angel of the Lord’, his eyes dropped to Cas’s body again. He didn’t know if Cas was joking but if there was any possibility that he might get into his handsome roommate's pants, he didn’t want to push his luck.

“Fair enough," Dean conceded, giving him a small nod before making a grand flourish with his hand, teasing, "Make yourself at home, o angel of Thursdays." With a small smirk, he pocketed the cash and made his way out to the living room to resume his game. 

The apartment had life again and Dean was no longer alone.


	2. on into the sunlight the fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of school comes and goes and Dean and Castiel are still getting used to having each other around. Dean can't decide if he wants to figure Cas out or stay as far away from him as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really fun chapter to write. Thank you for your kind words and kudos. They keep me inspired.

* * *

The first week living with Castiel comes and goes, and Dean is surprised by how easy it is. In fact, in the seven days, he can count on one hand the number of times he actually sees his roommate, always darting from his bedroom to the front door or vice versa. They don’t ever exchange pleasantries during those times; for whatever reason, Cas always has a determined little scowl on his face and Dean doesn’t want to stop him to find out why.

“You just let some random stranger stay in our apartment?” Sam is much more concerned when Dean informs him over the phone that his search for a roommate was successful. 

“He had twelve hundred dollars cash, Sammy, it’d be crazy if I didn’t let him stay here,” Dean replies simply. He’s holding his cell phone to his ear with one hand and picking up a slice of pizza from the box on the kitchen counter with the other. He takes a huge bite from it. “Besides,” he speaks as he chews, “The kid couldn’t hurt me if he tried, he’s like three inches shorter than me. And I’ve barely even seen him since he moved in. Doesn’t bother me at all.” 

Sam sighs loudly and Dean can sense the concern. It sort of makes him smile when Sam tries to be protective over him. “That’s not the point, Dean.” 

“Then what is the point?” he asks without hesitation, taking another large bite of his slice. 

“You don’t know anything about the guy!” Sam’s voice gets higher as he speaks until it reaches a distinct tone of disbelief, as if trying to convey to Dean how irresponsible his decision is. “You don’t know how he got that money, you don’t know where he’s from. Do you know anything about him?” 

Dean looked towards Sam’s old room, trying to remember if he’d seen Castiel at all during the day. “I know that his name’s Castiel,” Dean mused with a smirk on his face. 

There’s another deep sigh on the other end of the phone before his younger brother asked, “Casitel what?” 

Dean blinked for a moment trying to think of what Sam wanted for an answer. It wasn’t until a few moments passed that he realized that Sam was asking for a last name. “Oh. Dunno,” Dean shrugged, taking another bite of his pizza before speaking in a voice slightly muffled by food, “I don’t think he has one.” 

Sam let out a frustrated huff on the other end of the line and Dean can practically see the frown on his little brother’s face as he grumbles, “He has to have a last name. How am I supposed to run a background check if he doesn’t have a last name?”

“Relax Sam, you’ve got better things to worry about than your brother’s weird roommate,” Dean scolded, taking another large bite of pizza. Before he could continue telling Sam not to worry, the front door opened and Dean looked towards Castiel walking through, calling loudly, “Speak of the devil.”

Castiel blinked over at him, his eyes wide and curious for a moment. Once he realized that Dean was, in fact, talking to him, he took a few steps towards the kitchen, one eyebrow raised sharply, as if asking what was going on. 

Dean moved the phone up so the microphone was away from his mouth, nodding at Cas and saying, “My kid brother wants to know what your last name is.” He brought the pizza to his mouth again, taking a bite out of the crust as he awaited Castiel’s answer.

Before Cas even opened his mouth, his eyes darted to the pizza box opened in front of Dean on the counter. They then moved to the slice in his hand and he grimaced. “I don’t have one,” he said simply, wrinkling his nose in Dean’s direction.

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, using his elbow to nudge the pizza box towards Castiel. “Hungry?” he offered, trying to wipe the displeased look off the other man’s face. 

“No thank you,” Cas shrugged with the same slight frown on his face, waving a hand as he continued, “I don’t eat food with more grease than actual nutritional content. And I only eat meat when I know it comes from grass-fed, free-range, organic and sustainable farms.” 

It was the most words Cas had spoken to him since he’d moved in and Dean was left speechless, just gaping at the sacrilege pouring from the man’s mouth. How could anyone turn down pizza, let alone for such a ridiculous reason?

Castiel nodded at the phone in Dean’s hand, asking, “Is that all? Or does he need to know anything else?”

Dean cleared his throat, bringing the phone back down cautiously and murmuring, “Told you, says he doesn’t have a last name. Anything else?”

“Is he there right now? Ask him where he’s from, what he’s studying, how long he plans on staying with you, what his plan is for the future-“ Sam continued to rattle off questions like it was his job and Dean just shook his head at Castiel.

“That’s it,” Dean said bluntly, eyeing the other man as he nodded passively, turning and heading towards his room. Dean leaned over the counter a little, making sure the bedroom door closed before turning slightly, grumbling into the phone’s speaker, “I don’t trust him. He turned down three-meat pizza because it wasn’t ‘organic’. Who does that?”

“You didn’t ask him any of my questions,” Sam replied flatly. Dean could see him pouting again. 

“Doesn’t really matter, he paid for three months in advance,” Dean frowned as he continued looking out towards where Castiel had disappeared. “And if he’s some weird, hippie freak, the less I know about him, the better.” 

“You say that now, but when you wake up in an ice bath missing one of your kidneys, you’re going to wish you had listened to me,” Sam reprimanded, Dean’s frown twisting back up into a smile at Sam’s morbid thought.

“Go talk to a girl, you loser,” Dean teased.

“Go talk to your roommate, you loser,” Sam quipped right back.

* * *

As much as Dean knew that Sam was trying to be helpful, he still tried to stay clear of Castiel. He didn’t seem like the kind of person Dean would socialize with anyway, so there was not point of going out of his way to do so. 

They lived together; they didn’t have to be best friends. 

As the days passed, Dean started seeing more and more of Castiel, but there interaction was still fairly minimal. Sometimes Castiel came out to the living room while Dean was watching a movie or playing a game and hovered behind the couch, watching the screen. At first it bothered Dean, but eventually he was able to just tune out Cas’s presence. 

Castiel stayed longer every time he stopped until one day Dean looked over and realized the man was sitting next to him on the couch. “How long you been sitting there?” Dean asked. 

“I don’t know,” Castiel replied. Dean’s eyes had already turned back to the game so he couldn’t see Castiel’s expression as the man asked, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Dean answered simply, wincing as his video game persona nearly crashed his car. “I don’t care if you stay,” he clarified. 

Cas stayed and Dean continued playing.

* * *

School started up at the beginning of the last week of September. On the first day of classes, Dean thought about offering Castiel a ride to campus, since it’s too far to walk and the guy didn’t seem to have a car, but by the time he was ambling out to the kitchen to grab himself some cereal, Castiel was on his way out with his longboard in hand. 

It dawned on Dean that he still didn’t know what Castiel was studying. 

Dean’s class schedule was a little intense. Even though it was only his first semester as a full-time student, he had convinced his counselor to allow him to take nineteen credits, something the university didn’t usually allow people to do. 

He had three classes the first day with a few little breaks between each. In that time between classes he’d go to his favorite place on campus; just outside of the University Center, there was a quad with benches looking out over the UCSB lagoon. It wasn’t the best view of the ocean, but it was good enough. The air was crisp and tasted like sea salt and reminded him of the first few days that he and Sam had been in California. Sam had insisted on being at the beach from sun up to sun down every day, watching the surfers and the sea life and trying to absorb it all. It was like he couldn’t believe they had come so far, as if he thought it was just another stop on the Winchester tour and that they’d have to pack up and ship out in a month. 

Sometimes, even Dean felt like this was all a dream, like some day he’d wake up on a couch in the middle of Arkansas or Nebraska with his dad telling him it was time to pack again. 

On one of his breaks, as he was sitting on one of those benches staring out into the endless ocean, a couple guys skated passed where he was seated. Dean wouldn’t have looked up if one of the boards hadn’t been the very same one that had been leaning next to his front door for the past couple weeks. 

When he looked up, he saw Castiel gliding by, talking to someone else who was skating right alongside of him. 

He had never stopped to think about Cas skateboarding, but now that he was watching the man coast by so effortlessly, it seemed like second nature. There was a graceful nature to the act, the way he leaned back and forth to veer ever so slightly one-way or the other. It seemed almost elegant, if it was possible to describe someone skateboarding in such a way.

Castiel let out a laugh at something the other person had said before they were coasting around the corner. He hadn’t seen Castiel laugh before, it seemed foreign but distinctive, the usually complacent lips turned up in a hearty laugh.

Then he was out of sight. Dean didn’t see who Castiel was with or where they were going. He couldn’t even remember what either of them had been wearing though they had only passed through seconds ago. It was stuck in Dean’s mind for his entire break and even into his next class.  
Castiel was out of sight, but not quite out of mind.

* * *

Classes were relatively uneventful and so was life at the apartment. One night, Dean came home to find Castiel eating a salad at the kitchen table and Dean awkwardly took a seat across from him to eat the Chinese food he’d brought back on his way home from work. 

They didn’t talk about classes. Dean didn’t mention that he’d seen Cas skateboarding once. They just sort of sat in silence, eating their food.

That night, Dean watched X-Men sprawled out on the couch and Castiel sat on the loveseat across from him, reading a book. Dean glanced over at him a couple times throughout the movie, at first trying to figure out why Cas didn’t just read in his room, then resigning to try and figure out what book he was reading. When he made out the word ‘Poems’ on the front of the book, he rolled his eyes. Of course he was reading poetry.

When the movie was over, Dean turned the TV off with the remote and swung his legs around, standing up and stretching a little. He intended on grabbing a beer from the fridge and heading to his room until a voice piped up, throwing him for a loop.

“I understand the themes of prejudice and societal rejection,” the voice started out, and Dean turned to see the book closed and resting in Castiel’s lap. The man was looking towards the now blank television screen as he continued, “But doesn’t it seem a bit contrived to have the parallel figures of the civil rights movement portrayed by two old white men?”

Dean blinked at him. The breath he had been holding while stretching fell out of him in a graceless cough, covering his mouth as he looked over at Castiel, coughing out, “What?”

Castiel turned away from the television, a smug smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Isn’t it obvious?” his voice is self-righteous as he adds, “Doctor Xavier is obviously supposed to be an image of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Magneto is an image of Malcolm X pre-1964. But it’s sort of offensive that these parallels are both older white males, don’t you think?”

Dean stared at Castiel for a long few moments before simply saying, “Professor Xavier.”

“What?” Castiel asked, his eyebrows now knitting in confusion the way Dean’s had moments ago.

“Charles Xavier is a professor,” he pointed out, looking to the television as if the movie will somehow come back on to validate his assertion before looking back at Castiel, noting, “He has multiple doctorates, but because he’s a teacher by profession and has been published in multiple fields, he’s referred to as Professor X, not Doctor X.” 

A silence fell between them for a few long moments before Castiel’s mouth turned up into a huge smile. His lips parted into a soft laugh that grew in life as he continued, his hand coming to his mouth to hide himself away as he laughed openly at Dean. 

If Dean hadn’t been so agitated that Castiel was laughing at him, he’d think about that day at school when he saw Cas laughing on his skateboard. 

“Goodnight, Castiel,” he frowned, padding his way to the kitchen to grab his beer. He could still hear the last dying sounds of Castiel’s laughter interspersed with the man breathing out, trying to say ‘wait’. 

He passed through the living room to find Castiel laying back in the loveseat, smiling in his direction. It was a different smile than he’d seen before; it wasn’t smug or coy. It was a dopey, ridiculous looking smile. It suited Castiel better than the arrogant look, but Dean didn’t tell him so.

“I like it better when you call me Cas,” he mused, his voice still harboring a hint of laughter as he looked up at Dean. It was a weird thing to say, considering they’d hardly ever addressed each other by name. In the time they’d lived together, he’d probably only called him Cas four or five times. 

“Whatever you say,” Dean frowned, pulling his key from his pocket to pop the cap off of his beer, dragging the nickname out as he added, “ _Cas_.”

Castiel’s smile faded back into the same smug one it usually was and Dean nodded in his direction before heading to his room.

* * *

Days passed and things were more or less the same, though Dean sort of felt like their bond as roommates was changing. At the very least, they were no longer complete strangers. 

The two started hanging out in the living room more, not really with each other, just occupying the same space at the same time. Dean mostly stuck to playing video games while Cas was around so that he couldn’t point out the ethics or fallacies of the movies, though he still liked to point out the misogyny and gender politics of Grand Theft Auto. 

Dean mostly ignored him.

One early weekday, Dean woke up to hear the shower running in the bathroom, which caused him to grumble. The mornings were the only times Dean wished he had looked for a place with more than one bathroom. 

He occupied his time waiting for the shower by making himself breakfast, one ear always tuned into the sound of the water running in the other room. It took considerably longer than Dean would deem necessary for the water to finally cut out. He’d finished breakfast and was waiting in his room when he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening. 

“Finally, God,” Dean called loudly, getting up from his bed and trudging towards his bedroom door. He pulled it open, ready to make some brash comment about Castiel taking all the hot water, but the words caught in his throat. 

Castiel stood in the middle of the hallway completely naked. He was roughly running a towel over his presumably wet hair when he noticed Dean. That smug little smirk teased at Castiel’s lips and he nodded towards Dean. “Good morning, Dean,” he greeted contently.

The synapses refused to fire in Dean’s head and he couldn’t process anything besides the fact that this man was standing naked in the middle of the hallway. It was a full five seconds before he was cursing, turning his eyes away shamefully and holding his hand up to shield the parts of Castiel that shouldn’t have been exposed. 

“Jesus Christ, Cas, where is your towel? Why aren’t you wearing clothes?” he exclaimed, his words a bit stuttered and stammered as he peeked back at the man. His eyes went to Castiel’s neck for whatever reason, and he decided that it would be safe enough to just fixate his eyes on the man’s jutting collarbones. There was nothing inappropriate about keeping his eyes there. 

“Oh please,” Castiel groaned and Dean’s eyes flickered up to see Cas rolling his eyes. Once they had fully circled in their sockets, he was looking pointedly at Dean. The smugness had transcended from Castiel’s lips to his eyes. “Don’t tell me that you sincerely think there is something obscene about the human body,” he begged. Without hesitation, he wrapped the towel over his shoulders, running a hand lazily through his haphazard wet locks. 

If there wasn’t a naked man arguing with him in the hallway, Dean might consider the moral dilemma. 

“Dude, you’re naked,” Dean stated, as if they weren’t both aware of the fact. 

Another huff of lofty laughter left Castiel’s mouth. “You’ve been conditioned by a society that shames natural beauty in it’s most raw form in order to sell you products that will appease the very shame they instilled in you in the first place,” he practically sang. He stretched his arms out to either side, smiling cheekily at Dean and saying, “My body is not something for me to be ashamed of or to hide away. And neither is yours, or anyone else’s for that matter.”

If there wasn’t a naked man arguing with him in the hallway, Dean would’ve rolled his eyes.

Before he could think to do so, before the thought even crossed his mind, he realized Castiel had turned away and started towards his room. And if Dean noticed the muscles and curvature of Castiel’s spine as it descended into a lower back punctuated by dimples, if he noticed the firmness of Castiel’s ass and the way his thigh muscles looked as he walked away, he wouldn’t ever admit it aloud. 

Dean’s shower was icy cold, and not because Castiel took all the hot water.

* * *

The naked hallway incident stayed with Dean, and not in a nice way. He didn’t dare tell a soul; he couldn’t tell Sam and he didn’t know anyone else well enough to even think about bringing it up. 

And maybe that was a bad thing. He could only pretend he wasn’t thinking about it for so long before he was spending a night staring up at his bedroom ceiling, thinking about the way Castiel moved so easily in his own skin. He was confident and comfortable with himself in every way, which was more than Dean could ever say to himself. 

It was frustrating for Dean to think about.

One of those mornings after a particularly frustrating night thinking about Cas and his body, Dean was glad to find that Castiel was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t hear the sound of the man getting ready in the bathroom or in his bedroom and he wasn’t in the kitchen. Dean glanced at his phone to check his schedule, delighting in the fact that his first class of the day was cancelled, which meant he could try to get a couple more hours of sleep. 

He celebrated with a quick glass of orange juice, gulping it down and rinsing the glass within a matter of minutes. He started back towards his room, yawning in anticipation of getting to try and fall back to sleep.

Just as he passed Castiel’s door, the man rocketed out of it, crashing into him messily. Dean swore under his breath as Castiel clutched his arms, shaking his head frantically and apologizing before looking Dean in the eyes. There was something there that Dean hadn’t seen before and his voice was desperate as he begged, “I slept late and I need a ride to school. I’m gonna be late.”

“Huh?” was all Dean could manage. He hadn’t made coffee because he had intended to get back to sleep as soon as possible. Now everything was just sort of hazy, except for the sharp blue of Castiel’s eyes staring up at him. 

“Dean, please,” he shook Dean’s arms lightly, looking up at him with so much hope in his eyes that it made Dean sick. He nodded in the hopes that Cas would stop looking at him that way. 

It worked, but as soon as he was spared the look in Cas’s eyes, the man was dragging him towards the front door as he thanked him over and over again. 

“Wait, I need clothes,” Dean mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with the hand Castiel wasn’t gripping tightly. He tried to look back towards his room, but Castiel tugged his other hand, demanding his attention. “No one’s going to be looking at you,” Cas said sharply, swallowing before huffing out a frustrated breath, amending, “Sorry, I’m sorry, just, please, I just need you to drop me off and you can come right back.”

There was something weirdly endearing about the way Cas spoke to him, the way he snapped but immediately corrected himself and tried to make it better, and Dean just nodded wordlessly, continuing to follow him towards the door. He pulled his keys off the door and left the apartment with Castiel.

For some reason, he didn’t feel completely ridiculous in an old ACDC shirt and his flannel pajama bottoms even though he was sure he looked it. He just looked over at Castiel, who was so incredibly worried about being late, and wanted to help him out. 

“ _This_ is your car?” Castiel asked when Dean climbed into the driver’s side of the only shining black Impala in the parking lot. Once he was inside the car, he leaned over to the passenger side and pushed the door open, answering Castiel’s question without saying a word. 

Cas hesitated for a moment before huffing, clamoring into the car and shutting the door behind himself. He shifted his celestial backpack off of his back and held it in his lap, looking uncomfortably out the windshield of the car. Dean didn’t care enough to ask why Cas seemed to hate the car so much, just turned the key in the ignition. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cas flinch at the loud noise and he rolled his eyes, putting the car in gear and pulling out of the parking lot. 

At the roar of the engine pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street, Dean could hear Castiel huff out another judgmental breath. Instead of encouraging his roommate, he reached for the radio, turning it onto the local classic rock station and turning it up loudly. 

That lasted all of about twenty seconds before Castiel reached to turn the radio down, speaking over the now low tone of a guitar solo as he grimaced, “Could we not with the forced masculinity so early in the morning?” 

Dean didn’t know why he was even surprised at this point that Castiel would try to force meaning onto something that Dean enjoyed, and yet there he was, pulling up to a red light with his eyes wide and his mouth open slightly. “Excuse me?” Dean asked, hoping that he had maybe misheard or daydreamed Cas saying something so aggressive. 

“Oh I’m an American man and the only way I can assure myself of my own masculinity is by listening to hyper-stylized men sing about women and debauchery,” Cas’s voice was mocking as he ranted, a hand moving up to run through his hair before he pointed to the light, saying, “Light’s green.” 

Dean didn’t ease off the brake until the car behind him was honking, and even then he was still looking at Cas for a long few moments before stepping on the gas, speeding towards their school’s campus. This had to be some sort of terrible dream or nightmare and maybe if he just did what Cas told him in the dream, he could wake up. 

“And this car,” were the next three words to fall from Castiel’s mouth followed by a humorless laugh. He almost began to add something else, but Dean cut him off.

“Whoa now, before you say something judgmental about my baby, I’m going to have to politely ask you to shut the fuck up,” he fired, feeling truly awake for the first time that morning. 

He could almost hear Castiel’s interest peak, and in a brief moment of clarity, he wondered if Cas had just been waiting for him to react. All these times, pointing out flaws in the things Dean liked, maybe they were Castiel’s weird ways of starting conversation.

“You call it your baby?” He laughed, shaking his head and chiding, “How cliché and trite of you. Let me guess, you also refer to it as a female?” 

Dean was too tired to have his masculinity challenged by a man with a backpack covered in stars and galaxies. “Blow me, Cas,” he bit back, though his voice was tired and a little joyful as they pulled up to one of the school buildings on campus.

Without missing a beat, Cas replied, “Not now, I’m late to class.” 

Dean barely had time to look over before Cas was pushing the door opening, shifting the backpack off his lap and staring to climb out of the door. Before he could get all the way out, though, he leaned across to the driver’s side and pressed his lips to Dean’s. It’s a hard, fast kiss; Dean doesn't have time to close his eyes or even to really kiss back. It’s not comfortable, but it feels good. It feels nice to be kissed by Cas. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Castiel murmured as he pulls away, that stupid smug smile toying at his lips again as he climbed out of the car, closing the door behind him. “Pick me up later,” he tapped at the window, and it wasn’t a question. With a wink and a nod, he turned away from Dean and hurried towards one of the buildings closer to the parking lot. 

The car horn blaring behind him was too loud to be a dream and the sun beaming in through the windshield was too bright to be a nightmare.


End file.
